


Beyond Eden

by Kat2107



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Body Horror, F/M, Genji is in love, M/M, McCree and Sombra work through snark and sex, Reaper is edgy and angry, The title comes from a Nino de Angelo song and that is the most dire warning you'll get, but also sad, past r76 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat2107/pseuds/Kat2107
Summary: When Reaper abducts Mercy, it is not even a question whether or not Genji goes after them. He ropes in McCree and does what he does best - prepare for war.The bad guy has the girl he owes his life and maybe his heart to and it's all very straightforward.Except for the fact that Reaper is Gabriel Reyes and with Gabriel Reyes nothing is ever straightforward. Especially not the truth. Or his goals. Or their enemies.Or the allies.





	1. Dear Angela

**Author's Note:**

> There is background previous R76 in this fic.  
> I tagged it because it plays a role and is kinda central to the plot, nothing will happen aside from Reaper grumbling about the idiot. (probably) 
> 
> This fic deals with themes of abduction, mental manipulation, physical manipulation, body horror, a "romantic" relationship that looks real bad on the surface and uhm... 
> 
> Heck, it's a story about Reaper. Except that it's told from the side of two very sweet little snowflakes, one of whom is a cyborg ninja that can kill you with his pinky. 
> 
> That's it. that's the story
> 
> PS: If you have something that you want to be tagged, let me know. It's almost 2 am, my brain stopped working 3 hours ago.
> 
> PPS: I cannot thank my friends and betas and the people from the discord enough.  
> Hazel, Decoy, Eridani, Prettyarbitrary and Squeebop: THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART. I swear I am normally not THAT bad.

_Dear Angela,_

 

_I watch the snow as it blankets the walkway outside my room and I think of you._

_You are right, every child born is unique and perfect as a snowflake but we cannot keep them this way. Like snowflakes, they will face circumstances that change them, define them like they did me and made me the man I am._

_I must thank you for the suffering you have put upon me since my master has taken to calling me his special snowflake whenever he thinks I am slipping into a “mood”. My thanks are, of course, hollow. That was an evil thing to do, Angela._

_Even here, in the stillness of Nepal, I can hear you laugh now, hiding daintily behind your hand to stifle your giggle but you are found out, dear Angela, the evils of your plans exposed._

_It makes me happy that you laugh even in the darkness of the situation where you are, it makes me happy to know that I can make you laugh like this._

_Please know, if you need for anything - protection, a helping hand or a friend to lift the burdens of war from your shoulders._

_Time with the Shambali is plenty and I will gladly spend it on you._

_Until then, let me tell you a story my master told me a few days ago…_

 

***

 

_Dear Genji,_

 

_maybe we cannot protect all of them, but we have to try. A snowflake that is burned by the sun will melt from existence, not change into something equally perfect. Sometimes I regret Overwatch but then I think of you and how you almost got burned and I am glad that we could save you, for all the pain it brought._

_But then, Overwatch put you in that predicament, to begin with. Or rather Blackwatch did. Reyes did. Him trying to save you was the least he could do. For all his faults, though, this was something I never doubted. Gabriel Reyes didn’t leave his men behind._

_We did save you and I am infinitely glad, my snowflake. Please give my regards to your master and thank him for the beautiful and wise story. I feel like it was just what I needed to hear last night when I got your letter._

_Things in the camp haven’t been going well. The people arrive with infec…_

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Click._

“Hello, Doc.”

Mercy’s pen dropped at the unmistakable touch of cool metal to her neck and the gravely voice vibrating through the dim light in her emergency tent. Without the soft scratch on paper, the rustle of heavy duty cloth was obvious in the silence of a sleeping refugee camp.

Something in that voice made the hair on her neckstand on end, a touch from the grave at the long drawn out vowels that reminded her of…

“Long time no see.” His left hand came up, a black glove with metal tipped claws for fingertips, and nudged her hand away from the small pistol under her desk. A hated but necessary precaution. Too many wanted a piece of Dr. Angela Ziegler and her revolutionary research, not content that it be used to help those in need.

But that voice… the cadence of that darkness…

“What do you want?” she whispered, carefully lowering her hand from the weapon.

She had heard about him - who hadn’t - the shadow that walked the world’s battlefields, half mercenary, half remorseless terrorist hunting down the remnants of Overwatch.

And now, it seemed, he had come for her.

Her mind wandered to Genji, to regret and friendship that never quite had had the chance to blossom into more.

The Reaper ignored her question, tugging her up from the chair instead. He expected her to come willingly and she did; shackled by the knowledge of patients sleeping in the other half of the UN tent, children that this man would have no remorse killing to make her do his bidding.

 

He turned her around to the mask of death that was his face, shadows where his eyes must be. A clever trick of the light to conceal his identity for sure.

Though she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, of ghostly fingers prodding at her, the knowledge that she _knew._

“Leave the children alone. I will come quietly.”

His rolling chuckle vibrated through her body as he jerked his gun for her to move outside.

She did. No use in asking whether she could take anything with her.

Where she likely went she wouldn’t need her worldly possessions unless she had a sudden brilliant idea to escape. Run and hide among the destitute masses, maybe. Dive around the back of the tent, duck into the shadows of the endless alleys between the tents and then slip out the dirt paths in the back. Even jump into one of the cesspits and…

“I wouldn’t,” he rumbled right behind her and Angela forced herself to relax.

No, she wouldn’t and he knew it.

“Why…” her words were cut off by the sting of an injector to her neck.

 

***

 

Deep within the sanctuary of the Shambali, the earth seemed to vibrate with the strange rhythm of otherworldly breaths:

‘All you are,’ Zenyatta had said the first time he led Genji down here, ‘comes from the earth surrounding you.’

Genji had responded with unbridled rage simmering close to the surface.

‘I was built, master. Like a car.’

‘Like me,” Zenyatta had answered, endless patience in his voice. ‘Yet, it was you alone who learned to walk on the legs they gave you. Who learned to fold paper cranes and made both parts of yourself work as one.’

Now, Genji drew a deep breath and bowed his head deeper towards the earth, staring at his faceplate resting between his kneeling form and the altar. A reminder.

The receptors in his throat registered the increasing pressure from his half biological lungs and the mechanics in his right chest cavity, and opened his voicebox to the airflow. A click accompanied the low hiss only he could hear and the instant relief as oxygen flooded his system.

‘Every part of you comes from the earth. Nothing is foreign.’

The augmented filters in his ears noted the low hum of anti-grav fields as his teacher and friend floated into the meditation room, golden and silver omnic body shimmering ominously in artificial candlelight.

“Is it true?” Genji asked and sat straighter, his fingers already latching the faceplate back in place.

Few of his mechanical parts could still be easily removed. The lower half of his face had to be unlatched with a complicated series of snaps and buttons and even then he could bear it for only a while before he needed additional oxygen to replace the feeder in his mask.

He lived with barely half a set of lungs and no throat left, but compared to the fact that he was missing about the whole right side of his body, that was minor. Once, before he had come here, before he had found peace and balance in everything he was, he had tried to still appear human, to expose what skin he had left on his neck and left shoulder. It had long since vanished below the same sheet of high-density armor that was his left arm, shoulder, part of his torso and his right leg as well as most of his left leg.

“It is true. She is gone,” Zenyatta stated without preamble, leaving the brunt of the information for Genji to bear. “There were no signs of a fight, only a letter she was in the process of writing.”

“To me.” A statement, not a question. That was how the UN had found him - and placed him under immediate suspicion.

Former member of a now illegal organization, rumored Blackwatch assassin. Cyborg.

Who would really believe he was close friends with one of the world’s most famous humanitarians. Pacifist. A true hero.

Beautiful, blond angel healer Mercy.

“May I see?”

He flowed to his feet just as the neural interface of his mask connected to the the optic center in his brain.

The scent of earth, the soft light, they failed to calm him today. This was not a day to cater to his human senses, he needed the cold brilliance of the electronic feed, the distance that allowed him to read the dreaded nickname in her pretty handwriting as the holo picture in Zenyatta’s hand changed.

They wouldn’t allow him to help. They knew what he could do and that was precisely the reason why, a picture of her last letter his consolation prize.

“I need to go,” Genji finally said. “Noone else can find her.”

“If she is still alive.” Zenyatta’s voice reverberated softly in the small room, just a reminder, not a rebuke.

“She is. I feel it.” Genji could have explained it with logic if pressed but Zenyatta didn’t do petty things like doubt.

“And yet, you hesitate.” He just passed the obstacle and hit the next stumbling block head on.

And this was something, Genji couldn’t truly explain. He had thought he’d grown past it, forgiven himself and Overwatch what they had done...

“I find myself….” He hesitated.

“Apprehensive,” Zenyatta concluded, “to return to the world that shunned you.”

Yes. Yet…

The moment the thought appeared Genji knew.

“I am not there for the world.”

He gently closed his mentor’s hand until the image there flickered and finally blinked out. “Will you be with me?”

Zenyatta readjusted his hover controls into a slow bop down and up again the he sometimes did when thinking, before he turned and floated out of the room. His voice drifted back, warm and with a touch of mischief.

“An injured man needs to leave his crutch behind to walk again.” He paused, waiting for Genji to follow before he continued “Though it will always be in his corner, ready for the moment he stumbles.”

Genji laughed and was rewarded with the soft clinking of the hover balls that spread around Zenyatta’s shoulder like a halo.

“That is good, Master, for I need the jet.”


	2. Chapter 2

As he stepped into the tent he was hit with a rush of memories. The surroundings couldn’t be further from the gleaming, sterile environment of the medical ward at the Overwatch HQ in Zurich, but Angela Ziegler had a way of filling every room with her presence, no matter if that was clean tiles or hard packed dirt covered by cheap wooden pallets for a floor.

A desk that had gone through numerous hands in numerous disaster areas already, a cot, parted from the room only by a sheer curtain that had been drawn back when uncaring hands had rifled through the covers. Little bunnies and flowers on thick bedding, designed to withstand the freezing night temperatures this far out in the mountains.

Genji’s lips stretched into a faint smile as he bent down and picked the worn polar bear toy off the floor where it had fallen from her pillow.

She had tried to explain its name to him and he had valiantly tried to pronounce the throaty concoction of diphthongs with the bear a patient ball of fluff under his left hand, the grounding touch that reminded him he was still there. Not whole, but there.

“Meeasleea,” he tried again and laughed softly at how wrong it sounded. Touch receptors in his right hand transferred the information of the toy’s softness to his brain, analyzed the material in cold logical terms as they had done when Angela had handed him the bear after his third surgery.

“Touch it,” she had said, unhappy with his decision and the hot coil of anger that drove him.

“I can’t stop you, but I can make sure that you still feel. You will regret this, Genji, but I…”

“Angela…” Any feeble attempt of explanation fell short. He was angry, yes, but that hadn’t been all that drove him. This wasn’t about revenge, he had been sure of it.

Mercy had looked back at him, hardened combat medic, the angel that had saved the dying thread that had tethered him to life when Reyes had brought him in. Mercy knew.

“I can’t stop you, Genji.” Her too bright eyes had locked onto the plushy in his hands before she had squared her shoulders. “But I will do my best to help you.”

Genji had spent many an empty wandering hour contemplating what would have happened if he had listened to her and not the men who always needed more weapons.

Reaching up with his left he gently ran a finger over Müesli’s head.

He had agreed to the robotic upgrades that had turned his body into half machine and in turn saved his lung, what still existed of his liver and half his intestines. A few more cables that transported machine fluid instead of blood, a throat that didn’t produce his voice anymore. Skin that hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, covered in metal even where he was still flesh and blood but beneath…

The bear looked up at him with gentle eyes and no opinion of his life choices.

Whatever hatred might have driven him away from her, from all of Overwatch before it fell and the dream shattered, he didn’t regret it.

“You can only see the past clearly, bear. No judging tomorrow from yesterday’s soapbox.”

Eyeing the place where her healing staff normally stood and the lack of a combat suit in the tent, Genji kneeled to peek under Angela’s cot.

She possessed a healthy amount of paranoia when it came to her research, never leaving it in obvious places and never where it could be easily stolen.

Jesse had suggested her shoes, pointing to his own heeled soles with a rueful grin.

“Ya don’t even need to pack when ya gotta run, doc.”

Whatever Genji had hoped for, what he got were her fluffy slippers. He sighed.

So, she had still been working when she’d been taken.

The rest of the tent had been picked clean by the UN. No hint and after 42 hours the trail had long become cold. She could be anywhere.

Not dead, he reminded himself. Angela Ziegler was far too valuable alive, and more so because she was Mercy.

Whoever had taken her had taken the Valkyrie combat suit and the Caduceus along with the woman.

Mercy was alive and so…

Genji swiveled around, three shuriken between his fingers before the toy bear dropped to the ground.

He released them before his conscious brain identified the soft shuffle of feet not as someone sneaking but naked feet on dirt, some part of his brain made his hand shoot up, shifting the path of the throwing stars just enough to send them thudding into the plastic doorframe and not the shocked face of the boy below it.

Damn.

For a moment he seemed like a child with slim shoulders and emaciated wrists. Then his eyes shuttered and something wild and primal shoved to the forefront, something that fit much better to the whisper thin blade in his hand, shaped by a thousand strokes of a whetstone and years of use.

“Hello,” Genji opened, forcing his shoulders and stance to relax. “I see Angela had friends here.”

The boy, young man, perhaps, shifted closer to the door.

His English was heavily accented but clear, his voice rusty either from disuse, injury or tears.

“Who are you?”

Calling himself a friend might be a grave mistake, the boy’s eyes had seen too much to fall for platitudes. His gaze flickered to the fallen plush toy next to the bed and back to Genji’s cloth wrapped form. The people in this part of the world took better to a bedouin disguise than a cyborg by a long shot but it was by no means inconspicuous or common.

“I am Genji,” he admitted and was rewarded with immediate recognition amidst the distrust.

What he knew about children like this one he had learned from Angela talking about her work and the easy nonchalance of McCree’s stories that hid pain and injury well behind adventure and the illusions of youth.

The boy’s face twisted, as did his left hand to grip the knife more securely.

“Show your face then.” He jutted his chin forward, a facade of brave resolve and suddenly Genji understood why they both were here. Neither of them trusted the people that ran this planet, knew the truth if from different sides.  

“What do you think you will see if I remove the scarves, young friend?” Genji smiled.

And the boy almost fell for it, started to open his mouth and then closed it before he gave away his expectations and told Genji who he wanted to meet.

“She showed us pictures. I know if you’re a friend.”

‘Us’ him and likely few other trustworthy persons. Not even Angela, in her innocence and her believe that humanity was worth saving could be so careless as to walk around promoting her association with Overwatch and Blackwatch.

And there was the fact, Genji thought as he reached up to unfasten the headwrap, that he had absolutely no lead whatsoever, but if this youth was even remotely like McCree he’d know every rumor and fact there was to know.

“Will you tell me your name, friend? Or any other by which I shall call you.”

“Sammy,” the boy answered as Genji pulled the last strips of cloth away and revealed his true nature. “Will you search for Dr. Angela?”

“I will.”

Sammy slowly let the hand with the knife sink to his side.

He was here because he wanted to be found, he needed someone to get him to spill the secrets that he couldn’t just offer for free.

Back when he’d still acted out his revenge with Blackwatch, Commander Reyes had been a master at seeking out these secret wishes and pandering to them to make people talk. He always saw down to their  deepest soul and found their darkest secrets. Not unlike Master Zenyatta, except for the way they decided to deal with the knowledge at their disposal.

“Will you point me in the right direction for my hunt?”

“I might.” The boy’s demeanor changed, his lips thinning where he had bitten them in insecurity only moments before. He took a determined step closer to Genji, raising his chin with intent. “Under one condition: Take me with you.”

“I need to move swiftly, silently. What about your family?”

“No family. I will tell you everything but you need to take me out of here, wherever you go.”

Genji sighed and eyed the boy, looking for the telltale signs of abuse. Bruises, scratches, cuts.

He didn’t have to look far.

Any official agency would have a fit about this but he wasn’t official, never had been, and he had a jet at his disposal, a safe place within close distance in addition to the conviction that Mercy would agree with this.

“Then we have a deal. I will take you somewhere safe while I look for Dr. Ziegler.”

Sammy’s shoulders sagged and his eyes dropped to the floor for one or two deep breaths and then he looked up again, dark eyes flooded with a business kind of hope, the one that knew he had a chance but he had to grab it with both his hands and hold on because nobody would do it for him.

He straightened up immediately and huffed a deep breath.

“I wanted to come here but I had to go behind the toilets because some people don’t like me much. You come in the left way and up behind the registration and people can’t see you from the tent. But Doctor Angela, she wears white and she came out right that moment. I wanted to go to her but then someone talked with her. Real scary. I couldn’t see him at first but he had a voice like an evil spirit, a ghoul? All deep and… not an omnic voice like you but...evil?”

Genji nodded, not correcting the boy.

“She went with him because of the patients but he also had a gun at her. A real big monster of a pistol and then he did something and she got knocked out. He carried her to the north side, right up the main road but nobody was around. I mean, it was late and there was a movie in the communal tent, but that was really weird.

He had a plane where the cliff does a turn and the dump is. But I didn’t go there until it was gone.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Long black coat, hood, he had a white mask, like bones. Shadows all around him. Like smoke. From a Jinn?” he added, trying to make the unbelievable more believable.

Unbelievable to him. Genji had heard the stories about the bogeyman that all those left of Overwatch feared. Reaper.

Genji looked around the room, suddenly unsure of his conviction that Mercy was still alive.

But then, Reaper executed people on the spot.

“You know what’s weird? He didn’t take her staff with him.” Sammy pointed to the empty weapon’s rack. “But when I ran back here to tell Dr. Singh, it was gone.”

Just like the Valkyrie suit.

“He had someone with him, then. That is good,” Genji admitted. “it means they want her alive.”

“Yeah?”

He watched hope bloom over the youthful face and knew he couldn’t leave him in any case. Whoever had been with Reaper had likely seen the boy’s face.

A witness. Maybe not something to dispose of now but someone on the ground must have helped them, turned away their eyes for the jet to land, just like a friend of Zenyatta’s had done for him.

Talon did not leave witnesses.

“You didn’t tell anybody, did you?”

Sammy shook his head and looked away.

“I don’t trust them. Many do good like Dr. Angela, but some don’t and they....”

“I understand.” Genji had heard the words often enough. His eyes fell on the polar bear and he took the two steps to snatch it off the ground. “We won’t find anything here. Do you need anything to take with you?” he asked and watched as a wave of insecurity washed over the boy’s face.

“No, I will find stuff. Let’s go.”  Find stuff… steal it more like, but he wouldn’t have to.

Genaji didn’t comment when he slipped out of the tent the same way he had come in, through a loose flap at the back. Only his sound amplifiers picked up the low whisper behind him.

“Are you really a cyborg?”

 

***

 

“McCree.”

The voice on the other end grumbled his name like a sleepy question, distorted by the twisted pathways of several reroutes around the world. A sensible measure for a man with a 60 million bounty on his head. A precaution a friend was glad to know the man had taken.

“Greetings, McCree.”

“Wait, Genji. That you? The heck you calling me, man!”

Like he had done for all the years, McCree shot to full wakefulness within a second without losing his lazy drawl.

He had done this in Hanamura, lounging in a dirty backroom with his hat drawn over his eyes, asleep for all accounts while Genji talked betrayal with his commander.

And then Genji had said one wrong word, one arrogant threat too many and found himself staring down the barrel of a six shooter.

He had drawled something about seven cowboys and samurai and finding out which movie was better, once and for all, easy distraction while his eyes scanned Genji for weapons, ability and threat level.

“Play nice, boys,” Reyes had chided them and lit a cigarette, almost accidentally stepping between them. “I need you both and I’d I'd much rather you were in one piece then.”

 

“Damn, I haven’t hear from _you_ since you moved on top o’ a mountain and tried to find nirvana. How’d that go?”  

Blankets rustled in the background, McCree’s words muffled by a cigar in his mouth. The click of a lighter and the slow exhale of the first drag. So familiar.

He sounded honestly interested, caring for a friend the same way this friend cared about him, keeping up with the news and the rising bounties McCree collected.

One day, there would be time to answer the question. On that day, he would ask why his friend had turned his back on Blackwatch and Reyes most of all. What kind of salvation he had hoped to find for himself. Where he roamed these days with no home to call his own.

Today, though- “Reaper took Angela. I must find her.”

“When..? What?!” There was an ominous pause on the other side of the phone. “Genji…”

He broke off and took a deep breath.

“She is not dead, McCree,” Genji interjected before the cowboy could voice his concerns. “He took her suit and the Caduceus. She lives. I … feel it.”

“That is a bold statement, my friend.” Cloth rustled. “I’ll have to ask a few people, put my ear to the ground. Where are you now?”

Genji forced his body to release the tension he hadn’t been aware of holding. The autopilot held a steady traveling height while his unexpected passenger slept in deep exhaustion.

He would drop him off at the monastery into the care of an almost excited Zenyatta and then turn towards Africa straight away.

“On my way to Numbani. The central position will be a good starting point with Reaper’s latest activities.” He also would be able to move somewhat freely.

McCree hummed softly. “You could do a stopover at Gibraltar. Stock up. Knowing Winst… You did know about … you know?”

“The Recall. I am aware, yes.”

Awkward silence followed and spanned the years they hadn’t spent fighting side by side like brothers, the potential that they no longer stood firmly on the same side.

“They will help you. After all we always fought for the same things.”

“You did, McCree. I never became unselfish enough for that.” Genji cast a glance over his shoulder.. “They are vulnerable. I will guard their open flanks better when I move freely.”

“Like always.”

They both fell silent a moment before McCree gently adds: “Dogs of war cannot hunt on a leash.”

Genji felt the unbidden smile tug at his lips under the helmet.

“Goodbye my friend. I hope to hear from you soon.”

***

 

When he finally arrived in Dorado all the upstanding citizens had long gone to sleep, no one awake to recognize the cowboy hat or the serape or the iconic gun, all part of the package worth around 60 Million, give or take.

He strolled past a bunch of drunken Muertos through the gates of Castillo. They had long learned not to mess with him when he was sober and rather not risk when he was drunk.

The old walls shimmered blue in the silver moonlight, a much colder impression than the day’s warmth they still radiated shortly after midnight. It all wanted to lull him to sleep, the lazy night heat, the beautiful light, like the false promise of a fairy dream.

Thank the wonders of modern medicine for pep pills. Lucky for all involved, he had already been halfway across California when he’d gotten the call and hopping onto an 18-wheeler due south. Granted, sleeping between the cab and the trailer of a huge automated truck was not exactly his idea of luxurious but it did the trick in a pinch.

And what a fucking pinch that was.

 

He knew where he was headed but turned in the opposite direction first, towards the tavern, Calaveras.

Here, too, the only patrons where a pair of Muertos passed out drunk on the couch.

McCree paid them no heed, neither did the barkeeper, owner and local purveyor of stolen goods and  whiskey.

He put a glass in front of McCree but the gunslinger waved him away and dropped a few wrinkled bills onto the countertop.

“Gimme the bottle, Manu,” he ordered, moving seamlessly into Spanish, as if the man were not the first living being he talked to since he crossed the border.

Still, it got him a raised eyebrow. He usually only took a whole bottle on anniversaries or holidays. Which today wasn’t.

“La Chismosa in attendance?”

Manuel, the barkeep snorted a laugh. “You like to live dangerous, friend.”

McCree plucked the cigar from his lips, pulled the stopper with his teeth, took a healthy swig and grinned. “Just announce me.”

They shared a moment of mutual understanding before Manuel reached for his communicator and McCree walked back out across the courtyard, lifting his face into the stunningly clear moonlight as he went, back past the entry gates and towards the rooms that lay right across from Calaveras and right through the door that lifted for him as he approached.

Sombra didn’t look up from the screens in front of her, fingers tapping manically over glass surfaces. She seemed engrossed but he knew it couldn’t have been that important. She never have admitted him otherwise.

When the security door closed behind him and that seemed the signal for her to stop working just long enough to toss him a small box with a data card.

“That’s what you want, cochino.” She smirked. “But because you’re lazy, I’ll just tell. Look in Poland. Air control in Poznan had unauthorized access from a ship that breached Karachi airspace two days ago. I am so nice, I even included radar readings. Tell me I am nice, McCree.”

“You are so nice, cabrita. You steal my breath away.”

McCree turned the box in his fingers and already pulled out his official phone - the one she knew about - to transfer the data to Genji.

“You’re a horrible liar, McCree,” Sombra grumbled with a disgruntled look over her shoulder.

“How your ever survived half a day in black ops is a miracle.”

“Let a man have his secrets, darling.” Walking over, McCree slipped the phone into his back pocket. The data would transfer itself.

She didn’t look up this time, not even as he pressed both hands onto her shoulders and slowly dug his fingers into the tense muscles. Her only reaction was an annoyed “McCree!”

”Whoever runs the world will still be doin’ so in half ‘n hour, darlin’.”

He dug his fingers a little deeper, running his thumbs along her muscles just incidentally shoving the straps of her tank top  out of the way. He was almost thankful for the oppressive heat, if it made her dress down like this

“You were the one that wanted to know where the Reaper was going.”

The login screen of Watchpoint Grand Mesa flashed over her middle screen and a wistful pang in McCree’s chest whispered _Home._

Of course, she wouldn’t stop just with finding out where he went because Sombra was born unable to let a secret rest.

“You’ve been on it for how many hours now? Took me six alone to get here. A break will do ya good, darlin’. I promise.”

Jesse slowly turned her desk chair away from the screens and stepped around and between her legs. Carefully, lest she pull her gun on him. He got an eyeroll instead and that was as good as an agreement.

“Did you learn your seduction technique in Blackwatch, cowboy?” she snapped and leaned back at the same time, opening her knees to let him close enough to kneel in front of her.

“Well…,” he drawled, his aww shucks grin never failing to amuse her. “Could be worse, though. Could’ve been Deadlock.”

Sombra scrunched up her nose with a scoff and stole the cigar from his mouth to stub it out in the ashtray she kept on her desk.

“Lucky me, then, eh?”

Lucky him, rather. Kneeling where he was gave him a perfect view up her body and her skirt, worn today without the leggings or the boots.

“Lucky you, indeed.”

He slowly pushed the mini skirt up her toned thighs, revealing perfectly smooth, brown skin all the way up to her string tanga.

Breathing into the skin of her inner thigh, sweet cinnamon and the cold of electricity, he pondered how far they’d come from the first distrust and animosity-filled tryst they’d had in the alley behind Calaveras, clawing against each other and the walls to never give a millimeter to the other.

Didn’t mean they got along most of the time but McCree had long since accepted the fact that she had access to and read everything there was about him, including what was left of his Blackwatch records and he had decided on keeping his frenemies very, very close.

Above him, her gloved hands pushed up the hem of the violet tank top she wore, letting him see just enough of her body to divine the underside of a pretty little apple shaped breast and how her hand might close over it to tweak a nipple with a soft little moan.

He also had along accepted the fact that he knew literally nothing about her, except that she was looking for some world wide conspiracy and had helped him out of one or two law induced tight spots.

And the sex, he thought, as he pushed her right leg to the side to tug her panty to the left and reveal her pussy.

He breathed on the sensitive skin with a shit eating grin, slowly rubbing the coarse hairs of his beard along her much softer thighs until she responded with an annoyed glare. Damn adorable if anyone asked him. As adorable as her surprised squeak when he tugged at the perfectly groomed tuft of dark curls she wore at the junction of her labia or that gasp she let out, when he dipped his tongue between them.

Sombra smelled of soap, of arousal and impatience, and slung her left leg over his shoulder to find some leverage and lift her sex close to his mouth, offering herself up and giving him the chance to grab her ass with his left and take control.

He slowly swiped his tongue across her sex a few times, tasting her, getting her good and wet and her body awake for what he wanted to do.

Her breath came in soft little puffs and he could feel her eyes bore into the top of his head, saw her right hand move in slow methodical circles over her breast that her shifting hips tried to match against his tongue to get him going. She stilled at a warning squeeze of his mechanical hand against a globe of her ass.

Good girl.

_Seduction is not difficult, McCree, except when it is. Sometimes they want you to push them against a wall and just shove in and sometimes they want you to take them apart. And sometimes they want one thing and you need to convince them of the other. Know your target. And work on your technique, learn what they like._

 

Sombra liked things simple with sex, but she also liked them intricate and complex. And she liked when McCree’s fingers shoved into her, two at once and straight up curled against her g-spot while his tongue flicked over her clit in rapid movements, catching her unawares with the sudden assault.

McCree liked her groan and how she pressed against his mouth and her juices soaked his beard.

She liked it a lot when he thrust deeply into her, always aiming for that same spot again, sometimes caressing her labia with his lips to let her pleasure build slowly only to follow it up with slow circles around her most sensitive spot just to hear her gasp - sometimes, like now, even his name.

“That’s it darling,” he crooned and grinned up, giving her a moment to catch her breath, and granting himself the moment to watch her, back bent, tank top slipped up and revealing her breasts, nipples hard, one peeking out from her fingers rolling it in desperate motions.

Instead of an answer she used her left hand to turn the back of the office chair more securely against the desk before she buried it in McCree’s hair and _yanked_ him back where she wanted him.

He barely had time to laugh, did it anyways and let the vibrations sink into her sensitive skin.

“Just admit,” He flicked his tongue over her clit. “that this.” another. “was a great.” two flicks and a twitch of her hips against his mouth. “idea.”

She hissed above him and pressed his mouth closer, wrapping her leg around his head with a moan. It sounded to his ears like “Get on with it.”

At least he assumed that was it over the brutal grip of her thighs and the rush of blood in his ears.

He heard and reveled in her moans though, louder and louder with the flicks of his tongue and each curl and thrust of his fingers. And her cry as she came against him, her hand tearing at his hair, her vagina clamping onto his fingers as her whole body tensed, suspended for one glorious moment with her taste so overwhelmingly on his tongue.

She sank back against her chair and McCree was already working open his belt with shaky hands, eagerly shoving his shorts down past his aching cock. He sat up on his knees and grabbed her hips, holding her where she sat slumped back and out of breath, perfectly propped on the edge of the chair, spread out for him to enjoy.

Her eyes, unlike her grin, had gone soft as she watched him and made a small come hither gesture, all the invitation he needed to shove into her still orgasm tight, hot body.

The chair slammed against the thankfully sturdy desk that she had had the good sense to bolt against the wall. McCree liked that desk. It did its job well because there was no caution left in him, chasing after his own orgasm with feral hunger and desperate kisses and bites, letting her know how she tasted to him.

Electric, eclectic and so fucking dangerous, like death and all the things he had chased all his life from the dirt he had been born in, to the shiny facades of a hero’s world and back into the dirt and this dark room with its low ceiling.

He didn’t give her a chance to come down from her high, just carried her oversensitized body up with him and held her there, slamming into her until her body clenched around him in another cresting wave and dragged him along over the edge. He knew full well the kind of scratches her brutally long fingernails left on his back and he welcomed each and every one of them.

 

***

 

Half an hour later, half a world away, Reaper cursed as his fingers fumbled twice before he managed to solidify his form enough to grab the communicator. She would make note of every second that ticked by, watching closely for how much longer it took him than usual.

“Hola Gabe!” The fake happiness in her voice set off all of his alarm bells. “Long time no hearing. The boss people are beginning to miss you. But you are lucky I like you and planted a fake trail to some mercenary work. How nice of me!”

“We met two days ago… Get to the point, Sombra.” Reaper never fell for that game. She didn’t want him to. Sombra played for the sake of the game where Reaper played to win. She knew to never push it too far and he knew to let her have the feeling that she had something on him.

“You wouldn’t believe who just came in me… to me, I mean.”

“Sombra...” Reaper curled his body into a corner of the dark little room that has once been a pantry, now devoid of shelves and fitted with a cheap camping bed. He didn’t feel the cold of the walls against his bare back, only the solidity as it held his torso in position.

A shadow tendril kept the phone propped between his ear and the wall, a dumb solution to the very real problem that his house had no soundproofing and there was _someone_ in the next room that didn't need to know how much of a last hope effort she was. **  
**

Through a speaker and with some distance, Sombra’s gleeful cackle probably would’ve sounded much less abrasive.  
“Little Jesse is looking for his pápa,” she snickered into his ear and for one moment, Reaper seriously considered getting rid of her. “He’s filled out quite nicely. I can send you pictures.”

It wasn’t so much that Reaper didn’t know Sombra was sleeping with McCree. The gunslinger hung around Dorado often enough to get away from his ridiculously high bounty. Dumbass wannabe hero…

Something pinched at his non-existent heart at the thought. Jesse wasn’t really looking for _him,_ of course.Never had.

He was searching for Reaper.

It tasted like another jab of betrayal although he logically knew that it was bullshit.

And irrelevant. Except where it might be useful.

“What does he want?”


End file.
